A Portrait of an Intern as a Young Firefish
posted 9 Oct 2009
‘It’s natural to be nervous on your first day’, my boyfriend reassured me as I tried on the fourth variation on a theme of ‘professional’ looking outfits. Despite his assurances, the old adage about going from being a ‘big fish in a small pond to a small fish in a big pond’ kept coming back to me. However, in this case, the scale didn’t really seem to reflect the situation. I felt more like an aquarium fish released into the Pacific. Would I learn to surf the currents of the vast ocean they called the ‘real world’ or would I get eaten by sharks?
Arriving at the Firefish office shortly before 10am, it soon became clear my anxieties were unfounded. Beginning with a short tour of the office, conducted by a smiling Vanessa, I soon discovered that there was little to be afraid of. Though everyone was working diligently, the relaxed, comfortable atmosphere, in-house library (a wonderful thing in the eyes of a recent English Literature graduate) and the funky Firefish-themed wallpaper quickly put me at ease.
My first task involved organising blurbs from past proposals. Though simple, this job enabled me to learn more about the company, clients, methodologies and professional journeys of the Firefish. This, combined with many cups of tea and the added bonus of cake, meant my first day went swimmingly!
Feeling confident about the weeks to come, I thought I would have a go at exhibiting the metropolitan coolness that the other Firefish seem to have mastered so competently. Walking at a brisk pace with my ipod on, I crowded my way onto the tube with the rest of the commuters, looking forward to the day when I would be a regular on London transport and could scowl pointedly at ‘tourists’ who stood on the wrong side of the escalators. However, my burgeoning city self was brought up short as I soon realised that I had somehow taken the wrong exit out of London Bridge Station and had no idea where I was. Sheepishly slinking to the side of the road to avoid obstructing the paths of the real city moguls, I reluctantly retrieved my map. I arrived at Firefish slightly late and a little embarrassed. Living, working and navigating in London clearly takes some practice.
Despite my impromptu exploration of the London Bridge area, my time at Firefish was splashing (get it?). Though I was worried about being a bit of an ornamental tank accessory (different but not really of much use and kind of in the way of the busy fish) as had sometimes been my experience of previous placements, I was treated as an extra set of fins and invited to help on a variety of interesting projects. I worked with Fran and Sam for a few days, analysing pre-tasks to understand what motivated and prevented people from purchasing snack items like chocolate, crisps and sweets. I worked predominantly with Tracey, analysing filmed interviews with travellers at Heathrow to understand their Duty Free shopping habits. Using this information we were then able to build useful customer typologies for the final debrief. I was also given the opportunity to follow a project from the beginning, accompanying Billy and Bob to a client meeting and then taking part in some fieldwork by observing and taking notes during group discussions. Viewing unsuspecting respondents through a two way mirror was an entertaining, though weird experience; oddly voyeuristic yet strangely compelling, it was akin to looking into a fish tank. (Is that where the name developed from I wonder?) Reading, watching and listening to people’s responses on paper, on film and in group discussions was illuminating and often entertaining, confirming my increasing suspicions that people can always surprise you. Most importantly, it gave me a well-rounded appreciation of Firefish as a whole.
Another thing I have learnt during my two weeks as an intern is that food is of huge significance to the Firefish team. Each lunch time the kitchen would be full of people concocting interesting culinary surprises far superior to my humble toast and jam. It seems the key to happy, productive Firefish is to feed them well…and give them cake!
I have really enjoyed my time at Firefish and am grateful for the opportunity it has given me to learn more about market research and gain invaluable experience. I have been so welcomed and included by everyone here that it has given me a real sense of what it is like to be part of the Firefish team. Though I will soon be swimming away from the shoal, I will take with me their nourishing flakes of advice to help me navigate the treacherous waters of the marketing, media and advertising industries.
Thank you all (and sorry about the excessive fish puns!)
A Quiet Welshman....
posted 21 Jul 2009
Actually, I’m really not being that quiet. Or the city around me certainly isn’t. Let me explain…
It’s Hywel here and I thought it was about time I shared with the wider WWW some of the interesting experiences I’ve been having recently in a new (well, for me anyway), far flung corner of Asia. I’m in Ho Chi Minh City or, as I discovered, the place still known as Saigon by most of the locals. In fact, I’ve been in Vietnam for over two weeks now, both working and taking a bit of a holiday, which means I’ve been lucky enough to see a fair bit of the country in a short time. I have to say that I’ve been blown away by this country – its beauty, its people, its food and its incredible history.
Vietnamese proclaim that their nation is ‘the happiest nation on earth’. Before I came, I took that with a pinch of salt, but from an objective standpoint, I can see it’s true. The people here do everything with a genuine smile on their face whether it’s driving like maniacs in a throng of motorcycles in the wide avenues of Saigon, beckoning you in to their restaurant, bar or café and even when giving tourists a bit of friendly hassle with the cry of ‘you buy! You buy!’. Of course, I've had to succumb to their smiles and I've already bought a decent excess-bagagge holdall full of stuff I will probably never use or look at again. But how can anyone resist a collapsable panama hat, for one?!
When fresh off the plane a few weeks ago and in the full state of confusion brought on by the joyous marriage of some decent jet-lag and 95% humidity intolerance, I decided to go for a wander around the local area to get my bearings. Within the space of half an hour I was offered countless motorcycle rides (the fastest and most thrilling way of getting around town - and a bargain to boot too... as long as you can haggle), dozens of 'happy' massages and even some offers of both of these at the same time. But one thing has kept me puzzling for some time now. I also got stopped on three separate occasions by strangers who just wanted to chat about my shoes. Now my shoes, I assure you, are not in any way remarkable; simple leather trainers that barely have a brand. However, they seemed to be a true source of wonderment as I sauntered my way around District 1, trying to figure out how to ask for water. The thing is, it wasn't just a simple question of where I got my shoes from, but a proper, sit down chat. One chap held my hand for a good 5 minutes and insisted we had a riveting old chat about Wimbledon. Another wanted to know if I would ever consider taking him to the shop in London where I'd bought them and then have a sidline chat about tennis. The last, cornered me when I was looking lost and insisted we go and sit in a street stall and drink Coke while we chatted about the great sporting institution of Wimbledon (though he was also interested to know if I'd met his daughter who is studdying at Cambridge, apparently).
I have now dedicated these the magical social shoes. I think I'll be wearing them more often.
While working here, I've also had the priveledge of going into people's houses to see how they live and get on with their daily routines. It's been a real eye opener and fascinating on so many levels and it would be too lengthy to go into here. However, I will never again complain about having a small flat in London or for having to lug my bike into the hallway to keep it secure. It's common for whole extended families to live in a dwelling that is no more than two or three rooms (with the kitchen / bathroom / utility area being one of those). What's even weirder, but perhaps shouldn't be in this urban shrine to the 2 wheeled vehicle, is that in the living space all the motorcycles, bikes, scooters and trikes are hauled into a corner and pretty much take pride of place when they're not being used. In one interview, to find somewhere to put myself, I had to sit pillion on one with the translator in the driving seat as we enjoyed our Viet tea and our hostesses interview. Suburban homes in north London just won't ever seem the same again.
That's a little beginning of a taster of the wonders of Vietnam but I promise to be back with more. I'm off to brave the relentless warm rain and the smiling offers of 'good times' to find myself a large bowl of Pho or perhaps some spring rolls... or maybe some Ban Xiao. See you later!
Shanghai on wheels
posted 24 Jun 2009
As always, Firefish's faithful foreign correspondents are spread far and wide, with your despatch this week winging its way from Pudong airport in Shanghai. The airport, for those inclined to double entendre, is near Long Dong Lane.
On the face of it, Shanghai is an overwhelming experience, a city that seems to occupy more vertical space than it does horizontal and as such, can seem less than conducive to human scale. the sky scrapers are legion, to the extent that as a pedestrian, you can forget maps altogether and simply fix your eyes on one or other of the distinctive behemoths, navigating by penthouse suites and helipads.
The rampant building in the city, as in Beijing before it, anticipates the 2010 Expo, an event with it's own obscure mascot who resembles nothing so much as a squeeze of jolly toothpaste. But as our media paint a gloomy picture of European economic clout; this architectural ambition can seem as a microcosm of China - reinventing itself at will, with optimism and awesome scale.
Nonetheless, it wouldn't do to spend too long wandering around in Shanghai staring at the sky lest you miss some of the street level action – like camouflaged men, painting the trees green (they also come out in the spring to attach flowers with staples and superglue).
Indulging in further gormless star gazing would also run the risk of getting yourself obliterated by the chaos of Shaghai’s traffic, a large proportion of which spends as much time on the pavement as the streets. This action shot captures a very near miss – the dubious image quality explained by the cat like grace with which I leapt into a shrubbery.
A consistent theme on the streets is the vast and bewildering array of wheeled vehicles in the city.
Katy Mewler may have prattled about the quantity of bicycles in China’s capital, but she didn’t mention the many ‘frankenbikes’ – presumably born of the angry coupling of mopeds and bicycles, nor did she mention the fantastic utility of bikes and mopeds to Shanghaiese (Shanghaites?), often to be seen laden with multiple passengers alongside huge boxes/ bushels/ delivery bags.
But to return to the theme of flagrant abuses of road/ pavement lore, there prevails a ‘safety in numbers’ approach to road safety here which would have you average apoplectic Daily Mail reader beating down the Port Cullis of his local MP. At best, this spectacle appears as if shoals of bikes are inundating the helpless and cumbersome cars. This impunity to cars and road sense seems to render some cyclists overly confident.
To a slightly over bearing velo-phile like me, this is all very absorbing; there are even signs of a nascent fixed gear culture – though as yet without the preening and posturing attached to its London counterpart.
Notably, the majority of the bikes here are of only one gear as a matter of course and pure function, which appeal greatly to my curmudgeonly nature and stands in stark contrast with the staggeringly high tech excesses of much of the rest of the city.
With a sortie booked later in the month, I will be back to Shanghai soon, but my flight is being called and I’m looking forward to seeing my family and getting back on my bike in the relative safety and predictability of London’s traffic.
Dead Heads, Recession and The Snake
posted 7 Jun 2009
Last night I had a very bizarre journey back from some interviews in Long Island. The taxi driver arrived dressed in ‘cowboyesque’ finery and soon revealed himself a bonafide ‘Dead Head’ in all the wrong ways for a man about to drive you 50 miles back to your hotel. After chatting about ‘Technical Homeopathy’, the ‘nonexistence of time’ and life after Gerry (Garcia), we inevitably got the subject of recession/depression (depending on the fullness of your cup).
His take was that Manhattan had become a ‘guilded cage’ and that it was similar to the New York that the legendary Snake Plisskin eventually escaped from in the excellent 80’s movie. I wasn’t quite sure what he was on about, and was relieved to be nearing the end of the journey and in one piece too.
So, does the country that gave birth to the recession offer any positive green shoots of recovery that we can expect to worm their way under the Atlantic and spring up in our back yard any time soon? Not really. The only thing that seems certain here is that the future is uncertain. That said people remain hopeful and resourceful – digging the streets for gold and looking on high for career security.
So when will we know we are emerging from these dark times? What is the reliable indicator we can look to? Well, according to our man in New York (Tony) it will be when his acquaintance Chaz moves from his temporary job in the shirt dept of a well known to department store back to his regular job selling suits. People need suits for interviews.
Stay tuned for regular updates from the Chaz-o-meter. I’m thinking Noah, Doves and an olive branch … one day.
Gentrification
posted 6 Jun 2009
This week sees an Englishman (well more Irish and partly Icelandic really) in New York at the blogging controls. As a young Bob – back in 1989 – I was busy fighting the rapid advance of the Acid House movement though the medium of shoe gazing, goth tinged indie vibes. In Summer ’89 Hang David crossed the Atlantic to do what even the mighty Robster even failed to do – and break America (luckily the furniture here is made to withstand even the flabbiest ex boy band heartthrob).
The brief excursion to the land of the free took in the legendary CBGB’s club on Bowery in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Rather like the ‘Electric Banana’ the club closed down some time ago – so don’t look for it if you are in the neighbourhood. However, since my hotel was quite close by I went to check it out – for evidence of glories past.
My Manhattan has changed – even the Bowery feels like somewhere you could take your (groovy) granny for tea now. The legendarily scuzzy venue that hosted the New York Garage scene and the beginnings of Punk is now a shishy designer emporium – selling jeans for $250 a pop – though with a bit of designer scuzz left for nostalgia seekers such as myself.
Apparently this was one of the last bits of ‘edgy’ Manhattan. Nowadays even the shady characters on the street corners have Netbooks and Blackberries – though they still appear to be up to no good.